


Jealous Assholes

by alstonwiggles (captainalston)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Matchmaking, Miscommunication, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9323588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainalston/pseuds/alstonwiggles
Summary: Sam's been trying to give Steve his distance since they got Bucky back, but now that Bucky's recovered, it seems like Steve is the one keeping his distance, and Sam can't figure out if it's because of Natasha, because of his new boyfriend Bucky, or because Steve's not interested in him anymore.Put another way, Sam thinks Steve is dating Bucky. Steve thinks Sam is dating Natasha. They're both jealous assholes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my SamSteve Exchange Gift for the seriously awesome [persehpone](http://persehpone.tumblr.com), who wanted some bedsharing, miscommunication, and an angsty fight ending up in a make out session. I hope this tickles your fancy!
> 
>  
> 
> ~~I'm sorry I'm terrible at titles~~

While Sam is distracted with channel-surfing, Natasha sticks her cold-ass toes under the hem of his shirt. He jolts, jabbing her in the ribs with his heel as he wriggles away from her feet. “I’ve tucked the blanket around your feet four times now. Stop trying to worm your way up my shirt!”

Her mischievous eyes peer at him over the top of her book. “You run warmer than the blanket.” 

Sam rolls his eyes, fighting the urge to grin. “It would warm up faster if you’d stop moving around so much.” 

“Who has time to wait for that?” she says, settling for sticking her feet under his thigh and returning to her book. Sam huffs and settles back into the couch as he lands on the Food Network. 

They make it through about twelve minutes of Cupcake Wars before cold feet are snaking up his side again. 

“Natasha!” 

Sam chucks his pillow at her as she laughs, half-heartedly bringing up a hand to protect her face. She throws Sam’s pillow back at him, sitting up to defend herself from the next hit. 

It never comes, as the door opens and the room fills with the scent of super-soldier sweat. Steve and Bucky returning from what had probably turned into a 30 mile run around New York, if their matching grins were anything to go by. 

“Ugh, you boys need showers,” Natasha grumbles, curling into Sam’s side (and the smell of his deodorant). 

Steve wilts, throwing them a thin-lipped, apologetic smile. “Yeah, sorry, just needed some water real quick.” He ducks into the kitchen and starts rummaging through the fridge. 

“Missed out on a good run, Wilson,” Bucky says as he settles himself against the doorframe. 

“Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t need two assholes lapping me around Manhattan for an hour. Not when I have Cupcake Wars and Natasha.” 

There’s a crash from the kitchen and they all turn toward the noise. 

“Stevie? You okay?” Bucky asks, pushing off from the doorframe as Steve reappears in the hall. 

“Yeah no, I’m fine. Just bumped my head on – on the shelf. Not an issue.” 

Bucky strides over and pulls Steve’s head down, inspecting the back of his skull while Steve flushes red under his touch. Sam tries to stamp down his jealousy, but judging by Natasha’s quiet huff of laughter behind him, he’s doing a shit job of it. 

Look, it was obvious Steve was more than a little devoted to Bucky – that had been made pretty obvious in DC and confirmed repeatedly during the three months Sam had spent with Steve chasing his best friend across the globe and back. Until he was home and safe, Bucky was Steve’s first priority, and Sam respected that. And consequently ignored the fluttering in his stomach and the fleeting glances and all the little touches that said Steve Rogers might share Sam’s interest in…well in Steve. In him. In…them. 

But that had been four months ago. And despite all the progress Bucky had made and the memories he’d reclaimed, as well as the programming they’d erased, Steve was still plastered to Bucky’s side. If anything, he seemed to be avoiding Sam and well – 

And maybe Sam had misread all the little signs before, because now when no one was looking, Steve’s gaze darted to Bucky. He curled up next to Bucky on the couch and he worked out with Bucky in the gym and he now he gently wraps his fingers around Bucky’s as he pulls his head away from Bucky’s grasp. 

“I’m fine, seriously. Just a little dizzy.” He takes a sip from the bottle in his hand. Sam definitely doesn’t focus on the fact that Steve’s hand is still wrapped around Bucky’s wrist. 

“300 pounds of muscle and you are still as graceful as a drowned cat,” Bucky grumbles, snatching the bottle out of Steve’s hand and guzzling half of it. 

“We’ll, ah, get out of your way,” Steve mutters, glancing quickly at Sam and avoiding Natasha’s gaze as he shoves Bucky through the doorway. Sam’s not quite sure how someone so large manages to wilt down as small as Steve does right now. 

When the door shuts again, Sam just turns to stare at Natasha. “What did you do to piss Steve off so bad?” 

Natasha frowns. “What makes you think that?” 

Sam snorts. “You’re the superspy. You’re telling me you didn’t pick up on that weirdness?” 

She shrugs and returns to her book. “It’s a misunderstanding. He’ll figure it out soon enough.” 

Sam raises an eyebrow, but she doesn’t elaborate, and a minute later he feels icy toenails against his spine and forgets the strange encounter. 

Except it keeps happening and it’s obvious Natasha is the common denominator. 

The next time it happens, Sam and Natasha are wrestling in the gym going over triangle-chokes when Steve takes the hardest U-turn Sam’s ever seen. One second he’s taken six strides towards the punching bags, and as soon as he sees them wrapped up on the ground, he turns around and manages to cover the six-stride distance in three. 

Sam barely has a chance to glance up from Natasha’s grip around his neck before Steve is gone as quickly as he came. (In another second, Natasha squeezes her thighs around his neck and Sam’s concentration is diverted to wheezing and tapping her knee for release.) 

The next time was during their Saw marathon. Sam had never watched the films because while God bless Danny Glover, Sam knew what was good for him and an entire franchise of horror and torture porn was not it. 

He never did figure out how Natasha conned him into it, but here he is, curled up in her lap under a half dozen blankets, waiting for her to tell him the worst of it is over. (He’s pretty sure they’re 20 minutes into the movie already, but she assures him he’s only had his eyes closed for about three. He’s not sure he believes her.) 

Steve takes one step into the room, catches sight of Natasha on the couch, and just about cracks his head on the door frame in his attempt to leave the room. 

That one could almost have been blamed on the movie – Sam is half prepared to write it off as Steve hating horror films as much as he does – but then there’s The Incident. The one that makes it painfully clear something is going on between Steve and Natasha. 

It’s weeks later and Sam has barely seen Steve since “The Saw Incident,” but now Steve’s in the corner of the living room, painting, and Sam only meant to stop for a moment, but Steve doesn’t startle or shoo him away, and it’s been so long since Sam’s watched him draw anything. Steve doesn’t often paint in the public spaces – he has his own studio to squirrel away in, and nowadays only Bucky is ever allowed to enter when Steve is locked up in there. 

Not that Sam cares. It’s just a thing he’s noticed. 

But if Steve is painting in the living room, it’s an unspoken invitation to stay and watch or read a book. Steve used to do it a lot when Bucky was still recovering – back when he was drowning in pools of depression and loneliness and painting was the only thing to give him a few minutes of respite. He would set up in the corner and Sam would pick some CDs to play through the stereo. Modern stuff that was calm and sweet and grounded Steve as he painted. 

It’s been so long since Steve painted in the living room that Sam freezes, watching over his shoulder as he lays bright flashes of red on a light blue sky. It’s never quite clear what Steve’s drawing until he’s halfway through, but Sam likes to watch the brush strokes, careful and methodical. Mesmerizing in a way. 

“Looking okay so far?” 

Sam glances down to see Steve glancing up. A shy, vulnerable smile on his face as he rubs his thumb against his nose. He leaves a streak of blue as bright as his eyes smeared across his face. Sam buries the urge to reach out and wipe it off. 

“Perfect,” he replies, gaze caught on Steve’s. Caught on his eyes, blue like the sky. 

He coughs. 

“’course, it’s too early to call. I mean, what’s that red thing supposed to be? A flying arm? A dinosaur? Please tell me Stark didn’t commission a portrait of the Iron Man armor. He doesn’t need the kind of ego boost a Captain-America-original-portrait would bring.” 

Steve laughs, shaking his head and smiling up at Sam with the kind of warmth Sam thinks the sun might feel like if he hurtled himself into the center during a solar flare. 

But the warmth is gone in an instant, doused as Natasha enters the room. She is carrying a basket of gourmet chocolates from around the world – a special basket she’d asked Sam to pick up while he was down in DC for the weekend. Apparently she had a VERY big apology to make to someone at SHIELD. 

She hadn’t elaborated further. 

But now her presence makes Steve wilt like she personally kicked his favorite dog. 

“Thanks for this, Sam. I really appreciate it,” she says as she breezes through, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Nice painting Steve. Good color choice.” 

“Thanks,” he murmurs, suddenly caught up in his mason jar full of murky water. 

She stops by the kitchen to throw a box of hot chocolate in the basket, then leaves with as little preamble as she entered. 

When the door clicks it’s like an alarm kicking Steve back into action. “I ah – I think I’m done for now.” He collapses his easel so quickly Sam is sure he must have snapped the wood in two. 

“Right, uh, of course.” Sam steps back, trying to stay out of Steve’s way as he picked up his supplies like he was racing against a clock. In seconds, it was all bundled in his travel bags, the easel wedged up under his armpit. “It was, um, nice. To watch you paint again. I’ve –” Sam stares at the blue smudge smeared across Steve’s nose. “I’ve missed it.” 

Steve nods, mouth tight in the way that says he’s gritting his teeth. “Me too.” 

And he disappears out the door, probably to go back to his studio to paint in peace with his boyfriend. 

Sam shakes his head. Maybe there’s another box of hot chocolate in the kitchen. 

It’s clear something happened between Steve and Natasha, and he’s starting to wonder if something happened between him and Steve that everyone just forgot to tell him about. 

When he relays his worries to Natasha, she mutters Russian curses into her coffee and rolls her eyes at him. “I don’t have the caffeine or patience to deal with this,” she mutters darkly. 

“You’re not at all curious to know what you did to piss Steve off?” Sam asks as he pours granola and fruit onto his Greek yogurt. The raspberries bleed, staining little pockets of the white yogurt. 

“Did I do something? Sometimes it seems like we’re cool, and sometimes I would swear he’s avoiding me. Is this Steve’s subtle way of saying now that he’s got his bestie back he doesn’t want us around anymore?” Mashed raspberries bleed more and soon Sam’s yogurt is pink and chunky and half of it’s on the counter. He has to rip off a few sheets of paper towel to clean the counter where bits of his breakfast went flying. He feels like he has every reason to be pissed right now, particularly with how calmly Natasha is reacting to the whole situation. 

Natasha rolls her eyes, munching on the corner of a Pop Tart. “I know why Steve is upset, and it’s a frankly embarrassing misunderstanding. I just thought he was smart enough to figure that out by now. Clearly I underestimated how emotionally stunted he is.” She glares at Sam and mutters something in Russian. Sam ignores her and grabs a water bottle from the fridge. 

He’s about to join her at the kitchen bar when Bucky enters with a, “Morning Natasha. Sam.” 

“Freezer Burn,” Sam nods. 

Bucky hip checks him on the way to the fridge, almost maybe grinning. It could be fun, possibly. Like friendship. If Sam wasn’t so far gone on Bucky’s boyfriend. 

Natasha says something in Russian, and Bucky pauses, the carton of orange juice hovering halfway to his mouth. His response is quick and he shoots a glance at Sam before responding with an annoyed frown on his face. 

Natasha’s tone is flat when she responds and Sam gets the message. Natasha and Bucky want their Super-Secret, Soviet Spy talk time, and Sam is intruding. He trudges to his bedroom to eat his breakfast alone, ignoring the fact that his name is definitely popping up in their conversation several times and near “Steve.” He doesn’t need to glance over his should to know Bucky is watching his retreating back. 

And maybe what makes everything worse is how easily they can forget about the awkwardness when a distress call blares. How easily they slip back into being a team – even with the addition of Bucky – the four of them work together seamlessly. Bucky snipes bogeys off Sam’s tail while he dips down to grab Steve’s arm and airlift him to the control tower Natasha’s currently hacking. How Steve doesn’t hesitate to grab Natasha around the waist and shield them both from the fire of the tower exploding. 

They go flying off their rooftop perch, and Sam dives in to wrench them both up by the back of their uniforms. He can’t stop their fall, but he minimizes the impact when they crash to the cement. 

“Two flyers on your ten!” Bucky shouts through the comms as they hop back up to their feet. Steve tosses his shield through one and Bucky shatters the other with a single shot. Sam’s wings fly up to protect them from the debris. 

“Is that the last of them?” Steve asks Natasha as his eyes scan the sky for more Doombots cropping up in the distance. They’d destroyed five control towers and at least 100 sentinels since the first announcement that Times Square was under attack. At this point, even Steve is panting from exertion. 

Natasha checks a holographic view screen that pops up over her gauntlet, tapping a few buttons as the image whirrs by. “All control towers have been neutralized,” she confirms as Bucky flips off a restaurant awning, leaving a thin crack in the pavement. 

“What happened to the engineer? Did you see where he went?” 

Steve frowns, “Engineer?” 

Natasha and Bucky stare at each other in a moment where Sam is beginning to worry that Russia has mastered the act of silent communication while they were all looking the other way. 

Then they are back, Natasha looking clearly at Steve as she says, “When I found the first control tower, there was an engineer. He ran off before I could capture him, and I needed to deal with the Doombots before anything else. But I did put a tracker on him.” 

Steve glances over at Bucky, but he nods along in silent agreement to Nat’s story. Steve hooks his shield into his back straps and glances over Natasha’s wrist at the view screen. “Where is he right now?” 

She taps a few keys, and a slowly moving dot blinks into existence over an aerial map of New York. “Already outside of the city. We’ll need to grab a car to catch up to him.” 

Steve growls and Sam sighs, but no matter how exhausted they are, they need to neutralize the entire threat before they can call it a day. “SHIELD can clean up here. Sam, you’re fastest. Think you can retrieve a car from the tower and meet us back here?” 

“On it. Back in 20,” he replies, blasting into the air and rocketing toward Manhattan. 

Eventually they’re all piled into an SUV, with Sam’s wings and Steve’s shield tucked into the back under a frankly startling array of weaponry. Sam’s still not sure he wants to know where Natasha and Bucky hide all the firearms, but he’s definitely impressed. 

She’s in the front with Steve, giving him directions to tail the engineer while Sam is left in the back with Bucky. Normally they’d be teasing and cajoling each other through every minute of the ride, but Bucky’s been oddly quiet since they got in the car. 

Though in fairness, they’ve all been quiet and politely ignoring the echoing growls going around the car as their stomachs get progressively more upset and vocal about skipping lunch. They finish peeling through Pittsburgh traffic at the tail end of evening rush hour, when a choir of growls starts up again, angry to be skipping dinner now, too. 

Sam leans up toward the front as they pass out of the city and start hitting the rural pockets of Pennsylvania right before the border to Ohio. “We’ve got to be catching up to this guy by now. How far ahead is he?” Hopefully not much. Steve looks like he’s about to tear the steering wheel out of the car. 

Natasha points to the exit sign, “Pull over, now.” Sam nearly falls back in his seat as Steve swerves into the exit lane and slows down in time for the stop sign at the end. 

“Which way do I turn?” Steve asks, glancing up and down the empty roadway for some sign of international villainy. 

“There’s a hotel two miles to the north. Turn right.” 

Steve gives her a weary look that’s struggling to be angry, but he doesn’t have the energy to maintain it. “I thought we were tracking down a Doombot engineer. Natasha, I swear — ” 

“We are, Steve,” she says using her ‘placating a terrified victim’ voice, and Steve bristles at the sound of it. Sam leans in to press a hand to Steve’s shoulder and he relaxes again. “But he’s stopped moving, and we should eat and rest before we pursue him further.” 

Steve frowns, “He’s just an engineer. Let’s just deal with him now and head home.” 

Bucky leans in, elbowing Sam in the process. At least that’s familiar. “C’mon Stevie. For all we know he’s holed up in some compound fortified with a laser grid and tower guns and shit. Besides, you want to fight a guy now, cuff him in the trunk, and then do a six hour drive back to New York?” 

Sam wearily adds, “Look, I hate to play the ‘normal guy’ card here, but I need a shower and food and a nap. And with your metabolism, you gotta have it worse than me. Let’s just pull over, Natasha’ll keep an eye on the tracker, and we’ll grab some R&R and re-group for tomorrow.” 

Steve looks about to protest, but his stomach gives a truly heroic growl, and the car that’s been sitting patiently behind them for two minutes finally honks, and he just sighs in defeat. “Fine. But we deal with this guy first thing in the morning. Absolutely first.” 

There’s a chorus of nods, and Sam and Bucky slip back into their seats as Steve pulls off for the hotel. When they arrive, Bucky and Natasha jump out to rent rooms for the night, and Sam crawls up to the front for what turns out to be the most awkward grocery trip of his life. 

Sam tries to chalk the silence up to exhaustion and hunger and not the slow disintegration of their friendship. 

And he misses that. Their friendship. Even if Steve doesn’t like him…like _that_ , he thought — he thought they could still be _friends_ … 

They get back, buried in grocery bags, and Bucky and Natasha meet them in the lobby, brandishing two key cards. 

“All they had left were two rooms with a single queen in each, so we’ll be doubling-up,” Natasha announces, swapping their key cards for groceries. “Bucky and I are sharing one room, you two have the other.” 

Sam and Steve share a confused look and Steve jumps – all too abruptly – to say, “I’ll room with Buck, Nat. It’s fine. We used to share all the time.” Sam tries to ignore the way his stomach drops to his toes. 

“Nope.” Bucky grabs a few bags out of Sam’s hands, peering at the contents inside and nodding in satisfaction. “Too late. You took too long with the food and we already used the towels. Have fun.” He grabs Steve’s bag with a fully cooked chicken inside, and he and Nat dart upstairs before Steve or Sam can protest further. 

Great. Sam was looking forward to a night of awkward silence and brooding. 

They drop the bags of food on the bed and their equipment on either side before standing awkwardly by the bathroom door. 

Steve shuffles his feet and clears his throat. “You can shower first or eat or…or whatever you want. Um…” 

Sam waves him off. “Honestly, I’m gonna pass out standing up if I don’t eat right now. Go get cleaned up. I’ll save you some.” 

Steve nods and slips into the bathroom without another word. As the spray of water flicks on, Sam pulls out his phone and starts his “cigar by a fireplace” playlist and leans onto the bed as he shuffles through the remaining food bags. He settles on two ham sandwiches, adding a touch of mustard to both. 

He makes it through a sandwich and a half before he falls into a light sleep, the last bit of sandwich falling to rest on his chest. 

Sam wakes when the shower shuts off and he gets up to clean the food mess he left on the bedspread. (He wipes the crumbs off the sheets and onto the floor.) He shuts off his phone and plugs it in to charge. 

Steve comes out of the bathroom shirtless, and Sam’s brain short-circuits a little. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes, and Sam forgets the words to say, ‘No, you’re fine. Please burn every shirt you own.’ “I left some stuff to dry. You can just move it around,” Steve says as he drops to the bed, still using the hand towel to dry off his hair. 

In the bathroom, Steve’s shirt and boxers are hanging on the shower rail, and Sam keeps the water on the chilly side to avoid thinking too hard about Steve going commando in his uniform pants. 

Once he’s scrubbed off and feeling a little more human, Sam leaves the bathroom fully clothed to find his music playing as Steve stares out the window with one of his patented brooding faces. 

Sam glances at his phone, but the screen is dark. “Did I leave my phone unlocked?” 

Steve flushes and shakes his head, lifting his cell up like it’s an embarrassing admonition. The playlist that scrolls across the screen is simply called, ‘Sam Music.’ 

“Sorry,” he apologies, flicking the music off. “It’s um…soothing.” 

“No worries,” Sam replies, awkward in the sudden silence. “Glad you like it, man.” 

Steve doesn’t say anything further, so Sam goes quiet, taking a corner of the bed and finishing his sandwich from earlier. The mustard’s made it soggy and kind of gross, but no more than Steve’s brooding has done to the atmosphere. The man has made it an Olympic sport and is currently winning gold, silver, and bronze. 

Sam has to clear his throat twice to feel moderately comfortable breaking the silence 

He asks about Bucky. How he’s doing. Steve is oddly short and Sam lifts an eyebrow. Not that he really wants to know about Steve’s boyfriend, but if they can’t even talk about that, this friendship is completely doomed. 

“Fine,” Steve huffs, “He’s doing… He’s better.” 

_But he’s not_ my _Bucky_ , is understood, even if Steve doesn’t say it 

“What happened with you and Natasha?” Sam asks, surprising even himself. “Why are you so pissed at her?” 

Steve blinks. “I’m not. Natasha’s fine.” 

“Bullshit.” Sam licks a stripe of mustard off his thumb and Steve glances away. “You clam up every time she enters the room, and if looks could kill, you’d have glared her into an early grave like seven times by now. You’re only ever cordial with her during missions. What’s up?” 

Steve’s ears flush red with embarrassment and he turns viciously defensive. “There’s nothing – it’s got nothing to do with you, Sam, so just leave it alone” 

Sam is very tired. Sam is very stressed. And Sam is VERY done with months of dancing around this conversation. 

“I get it, okay, I get it. You compartmentalize and hyper-focus and now that you’ve got Bucky back, you don’t have time in your life for all of us. But that doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole about it, okay? Especially with Natasha. She might act like she can take it, but she doesn’t exactly have a long list of people she trusts, and she doesn’t need one of the three who made it on there being so, so –” 

“Look, it’s not Natasha, okay? It’s – it’s – !” and Steve chokes off the word so harshly, Sam can almost convince himself he misheard. 

But he didn’t mishear. _He’s_ the problem. Steve isn’t upset with Natasha, he’s upset with Sam. 

His stomach swoops and he bites back the nausea. 

Well, that’s his answer. 

Steve starts half a dozen sentences, but Sam hardly notices, the way he’s focusing on his breathing. Trying to make sure he doesn’t vomit or shout his head off or just fucking chuck Steve out a window. 

“I — when she’s with you,” Steve grits out, eyes laser-focused on his feet, “I know I should be happy for you both — I am! It’s just…hard…I — ” 

Steve rubs a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry, this was a bad — I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I can sleep in the car.” 

And he’s up on his feet. Would have been out the door in seconds if Sam wasn’t blocking his path, one hand on his chest. 

“When we’re together?” Sam asks. 

“I’m just — ” his tongue sticks in his throat, “ — just jealous. I know it’s immature, and — and I’m sorry — ” 

“Jealous of…of us?” 

Steve stops trying to push past Sam, and stands there red and flushed and embarrassed from his toes to his forehead and back again. 

“Of me and Natasha?” 

Red and so very, very angry. “YES Sam. I think we made that pretty clear. I’m glad you guys are happy together, I’m just…also not…” 

Realization dawns. 

“I’m jealous,” Sam blurts. Steve blinks at him, confused and wary. “Of you and Bucky, I mean. It’s obvious you’re in love with him — ” 

“I’m not — ” 

“Steve, don’t. You know you’ve been over the moon since he came back. It’s natural to want…to want him…” 

Steve puts his hands up in a surrendering, placating gesture. “I don’t — ” 

Sam gives him a glare. 

He amends. “Okay, yes, I do love Bucky. He’s my family, Sam. My only connection to my old life before all — all this.” Sam looks about ready to interrupt, and Steve raises his hands again. “Please just… I know I’ve been kind of wrapped up in Bucky’s recovery and I didn’t pay enough attention to you and — and Natasha.” 

“You didn’t have to — ” 

“I should have.” Steve frowns. “But then when Bucky was better, it was clear that you and Natasha…I mean, Natasha and you were um,” he coughed, “Sort of a — a thing. I waited too long, I guess.” He smiles but it looks more like a frown. “I never can get my timing right.” 

Sam blinks at him. “We’re not a couple.” 

Steve blinks at him. “What?” 

“Natasha and I. We’re not together.” 

Steve looks at him incredulously. “Yes you are.” 

Sam shakes his head, almost grinning at the ludicrous conclusion. “No, we’re not.” 

“Every time you’re together, you’re completely curled up together. Like — like — cuddling on the couch and — and — ” 

“It’s just — it’s nice, but it’s not romantic!” 

“A 20 pound basket of chocolate is pretty romantic!” 

“No man, I picked those up in DC so Natasha could give them to some agent at SHIELD. They weren’t like, a gift. Besides, what about you and Bucky?” 

“Me and Bucky?” 

“Yeah, God, you guys can’t get enough of each other. Always touching and—and hanging off each other.” Wow, smooth Wilson. 

“You thought — Bucky and I aren’t dating!” 

“Natasha and I aren’t dating!” 

They sit for a beat of silence, staring at one another like it’s a challenge. 

Then Sam backs down, because Steve will NEVER be the one to back down first. “Well that’s…that’s good.” He clears his throat. There’s another silence and Steve settles down, his bristle mellowing. 

“Yeah…good” 

Sam takes a steadying breath. “I like you Steve. I love watching you paint and fighting alongside you and just sitting with you on a lazy afternoon and doing nothing.” 

“Doing nothing with me?” Steve asks with just a flicker of his dry humor. 

Sam grins. “Yes you chiseled gorilla. I’ve missed it since Bucky’s been back.” 

“I like it too, and I’m missed it. I’m…sorry about that.” 

Sam steps closer, “I think we’ve both messed this up a bit.” He wraps a hand around Steve’s neck and leans in. “Is this — are we good?” 

Steve’s eyes flutter shut. “Really good,” he breathes before pressing in and kissing Sam long and tender and a little sloppy at the end. Sam breaks off into giggles and Steve chases him back into his space, leaning into him until they end up on the bed swapping messy, sloppy kisses back and forth. 

The kisses follow a whole progression from sloppy to heated to a break for food, a detour to hickeys, and back to slow, soft kisses before they both fall into an exhausted sleep, hands tangled together under the sheets. 

They hadn’t agreed on when exactly to wake up in the morning, but by the time Sam groggily opens his eyes, it’s well past dawn. He glances up to see Steve glancing down, a soft smile on his face. 

“Morning,” he breathes, and Sam responses with a slow kiss in return before pulling back with a grin and his own light, “Morning.” 

They share a few more kisses, and Sam determinedly replaces the hickeys that had healed during the night until Steve’s neckline is peppered in blue and purple bruises. They’ll be gone in a couple of hours, but Sam’s happy to keep replacing them as necessary. 

There there’s a knock at the door and Natasha is shouting, “You guys have had enough sleep already. Put clothes on and come out for breakfast or we are coming in.” 

Sam grins and shakes his head. “How much do you want to bet they planned this?” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’ve known Bucky since we were kids. I can almost guarantee it.” 

Sam leans in for one last kiss before a heavy, metal hand starts slamming on the door. “C’mon Steve, I know you can hear me. Steve? Steve!” 

“Yeah Buck, I’m coming! Calm down!” Steve shouts, reluctantly rolling out of bed and retrieving his shirt from the bathroom. Sam’s about 80% sure Steve isn’t in there long enough to replace his boxers and grins mischievously as he slips a hand into Steve’s back pocket as they go through the door. 

Bucky and Natasha glance them up and down appraisingly. Bucky’s grin is big and bright and knowing. Natasha’s is smaller and more secretive, but probably just as proud. Steve tries without any success to pull up the crew neck of his collar and hide the hickeys. Sam wears his proudly. 

“That took long enough,” she finally says. “Thought we were going to have to lock you both in a closet for a week just to get yours heads out of your asses.” 

Sam shook his head at her, a beaming smile apparently glued to his face despite his best efforts to look put out. “You totally planned this, didn’t you?” 

Natasha stares back enigmatically 

“Was there even an engineer?” 

Bucky smirks, “Nope.” 

Sam laughs. “Thanks Nat. Frost Bite.” 

Bucky grins and yanks them both toward the continental breakfast, giving Steve a smug grin. “You dog.” 

“Shut up,” Steve huffs, catching Sam’s hand behind Bucky’s back. 

Bucky glares at them both. “That’s uncomfortably close to my ass, you guys.” 

Sam pinches Bucky’s cheek and he leaps forward, walking alongside Nat and sticking his tongue out at both of them. “No Frosted Flakes for either of you!” 

“Fuck you, Barnes,” Sam laughs, jumping forward and elbowing Bucky away from the cereal. Steve just sighs and joins Natasha in approaching the continental breakfast at the kind of slow speed befitting a mature adult. (But he does shoulder drive Bucky away from the powdered donuts and pick up a few extra for Sam.)


End file.
